


we'll be together when all is right, i guess

by lordyuuri



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/M, Strained Friendships, Teen Angst, Written for a Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordyuuri/pseuds/lordyuuri
Summary: "You're quick to run away," the girl sighs. "I should have known."





	we'll be together when all is right, i guess

“You’re quick to run away,” the girl sighs. “I should’ve known.”

Her voice is low but harsh, hints of anger but mainly laced with disappointment. 

It’s a chill January night - light jackets and maybe a scarf is the choice of attire for most people, instead of the usual burly winter coats and bulky mittens. The girl is standing outside the boy’s house dressed in nothing more than a hoodie and a worn-out beanie. The hoodie - dark blue with a red logo, way too large for her (exactly as she likes it) - was a gift from him, a gift from the better days.

It’s a sort-of cold night, with the occasional breeze roaring by and patches of grayish, slushy snow on the ground, and yet her blood boils at just the mere sight of the boy. He stands before her, dressed in nothing more than a hoodie as well and khaki shorts that stop just above his knees. She wants to chastise him on his choice of attire, chastise him on the nonchalant look on his reddened face, chastise him on the fact that he smells of stale weed. Lots of it. As if he’s allowed the smoke to billow around him for hours on end. She can imagine it: bits and pieces of the drug scattered about on the glass table. Him lounging on the gaudy red couch with holes in it, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

She exhales deeply, needing to hear some sort of noise in this silence. A few cars drive by. One of them is honking incessantly. Everything seems like it has gotten ear-shattering loudly, and she wants to scream at them to shut the fuck up.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he says after a while. His eyes are like weapons. Sharp, intimidating, shining brightly like a well-polished sword. But she refuses to be cut down.

“I don’t run from my problems.” The girl runs her numb hands through her hair, exhaling again. She taps her foot quickly because she knows that she an argument is going to happen. “I face them head on, even when I don’t want to. Something that you need to learn how to do.”

“Can you stop acting like your wise? Like, like, you lived long enough to be able to tell me what I should and should not do.”

His voice is loud, sizzling. Her eyes widen at the accusation.

“I’m not trying to - “ she starts, but he raises a hand, finger slightly trembling.

“You are. You really are. You can’t just tell me about all my problems like I don’t already know about them. Like you’re some fucking therapist drawing to draw out my traumas.”

The girl looks at him - really looks at him. She looks at the hair he dyed silver, the hair that spills down his back. She looks at his chocolate brown with hints of red in them. She looks at his slender, tall frame and his child-like face that doesn’t fit his personality, his cheeks painted red thanks to the cold.

“I...I just worry about you, okay?” Her lips curl down into a small, worried frown. “And I know you don’t want me worrying about you. You’ve been saying shit like that since we were five. But I worry about just as much as you worry about me. But you need to worry about yourself too because when you don’t, then things get  _ fucked  _ up, and everything arounds you gets fucked up, and it’s just - “

She averts her eyes, looking down at the grimy sidewalk, and crosses her arms, digs her nails into them. She feels nothing - her arms are frozen as well - and lets out a sigh, like all of the air is being pushed slowly out of a balloon. She doesn’t even notice the boy walking towards her until her interlaces his icy fingers with hers. He squeezes her hand softly, as if she is fragile and will break if he holds on any tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His voice is so delicate, so inaudible, that the girl would not have been able to hear him at all if the wind wasn’t still.

“I’m sorry, too,” the girl says.

The boy shakes his head, smiling softly. His eyes have lost that shine from earlier. They’re a bit muted now, softer, warmer.

“Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. That’s lame.” The girl returns the smile, and both she and the boy laugh. Not a loud, hearty laugh, but something akin to a chuckle. A sign of possible progress, a sign that something -  _ anything  _ \- can be fixed.

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently you aren't really supposed to write fanfiction for college creative writing classes (which is understandable, tbh). we had to write a sensory piece and takuzura kept popping into my mind, so...yeah. i avoided mentioning their names, but this story is def about them.
> 
> also, i didn't add the edits some of my classmates made on the story. it wasn't a lot of edits, but i'm too lazy to search for them in my already messy folder. sorry 'bout that.


End file.
